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Updated: June 1, 2025
They were futile and impotent; he had no patience with them. The offended and astonished Belarab, d'Alcacer with his kindly touch and friendly voice, the sleeping men, the men awake, the Settlement full of unrestful life and the restless Shallows of the coast, were removed from him into an immensity of pitying contempt. Perhaps they existed. Perhaps all this waited for him.
It seemed to her that she had said her last words to all of them: to d'Alcacer, to her husband, to Lingard himself and that they had all gone behind the curtain forever out of her sight.
"Pardon me," said d'Alcacer, composedly. The slight wave of his hand was hardly more than an indication, the beginning of a conciliating gesture. "Pardon me; but this is a matter requiring perfect confidence on both sides. Don Martin, here, who is a person of importance. . . ." "I've spoken my mind plainly. I have said as much as I dare.
"Have you ever seen a man dashing himself at a stone wall?" he asked, confidentially. "No," said Mrs. Travers, gazing straight before her above the slow flutter of the fan. "No, I did not know it was ever done; men burrow under or slip round quietly while they look the other way." "Ah! you define diplomacy," murmured d'Alcacer. "A little of it here would do no harm.
"An international understanding the duty to civilize failed to carry out compact Canning " D'Alcacer became attentive for a moment. " not that this attempt, almost amusing in its impudence, influences my opinion. I won't admit the possibility of any violence being offered to people of our position. It is the social aspect of such an incident I am desirous of criticising."
D'Alcacer was looking up from the seat, full of wonder. Mrs. Travers appealed to him in a calm voice through the folds of the scarf: "Tell me, Mr. d'Alcacer, you who can look on it calmly, wouldn't I be right?" "Why, has Jorgenson told you anything?" "Directly nothing, except a phrase or two which really I could not understand.
D'Alcacer began to speak: "She is a representative woman and yet one of those of whom there are but very few at any time in the world. Not that they are very rare but that there is but little room on top. They are the iridescent gleams on a hard and dark surface. For the world is hard, Captain Lingard, it is hard, both in what it will remember and in what it will forget.
"You have taken the white prisoners out of their hands by the force of your words alone. Is that so, Tuan?" "Yes," said Lingard. "And you have them on board here?" asked Jaffir, with a glance over his shoulder at the white and misty structure within which by the light of a small oil flame d'Alcacer and Mrs. Travers were just then conversing. "Yes, I have them here."
"It's I who was reprieved." A long silence followed. Along the whole line of the manned stockade the whisperings had ceased. The vibrations of the gong had died out, too. Only the watchers perched in the highest boughs of the big tree made a slight rustle amongst the leaves. "What are you thinking of, Captain Lingard?" d'Alcacer asked in a low voice. Lingard did not change his position.
At this moment of his meditation he became aware of Lingard's approach. He raised his head eagerly. D'Alcacer was not indifferent to his fate and even to Mr. Travers' fate. He would fain learn. . . . But one look at Lingard's face was enough. "It's no use asking him anything," he said to himself, "for he cares for nothing just now."
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